beneath the bitter snow
by cassino
Summary: where newt ends up sitting crosslegged in the ice and chewing on half-frozen bread just so that he can find his tiny stalker / newt scamander and the pogrebin, for the houses competition


**forum: **the houses competition

**house: **ravenclaw

**year: **four

**category: **standard

**prompt: **[Creature] Pogrebin (Russian)

* * *

_**beneath the bitter snow**_

_words: 1272_

* * *

Newt had a distinct feeling that he was being followed.

The streets of the little Russian town he was staying in was almost always empty—the harsh winter drove everyone indoors after sundown, towards the warmth of the crackling fireplace. Newt was quite sure that no one was loitering on the streets today, especially since it had been snowing heavily and the bitter winds were so cold that they'd seeped through his warming charm and sent a shiver down his spine.

And yet, Newt could feel a pair of eyes on his back, following him as he walked. He held his head down and listened to the crunch of the snow beneath his shoes as he strained to catch any signs of movement behind him.

There was a low _thunk _and Newt whirled around, his eyes alert as they darted about the bleak white of the snow-covered road. There was nothing particularly special that caught his eye, but his hand tightened around his wand in the pocket of his coat.

A niggling voice at the back of his mind told him that what was following him was exactly the thing he was looking for, but he ignored it as he turned around to resume his walk back home. It wouldn't do to dwell on _that _thought. Not yet, at least.

As Newt reached the door of his little cottage, dusting off the damp remnants of snow and ice from his coat, a tiny bit of movement caught his eye and he froze.

Right at the edge of the broken gate that opened up to the woods beyond, was a nondescript little stone, smooth and grey. It might have escaped his notice in any other situation, but to find a rock completely devoid of frost in the middle of a snowstorm was quite strange.

With a little smile, he stepped into the warmth of the cottage, pretending not to notice the rock shake itself to get rid of the snow as it trundled towards the darkness of the woods.

* * *

The next time Newt felt the creature watching him, he was in the heart of the woods, with nothing but his wand, a journal and a measly portion of half-frozen bread for food. The sun had already begun to set, despite the fact that it was early afternoon, and Newt had quite begun to despair of completing his mission.

Newt's ears perked up as he heard the sound of muffled footsteps on the snow and the _crack _of a twig breaking. Turning his head, he caught sight of a small silhouette—a foot tall, perhaps, with an oddly enlarged head resting upon a tiny body. It was gone as soon as he saw it, replaced by a rock as the creature crouched to blend into the scene.

_Pogrebin, _the villagers had called it. _The Burier._

He didn't know too much about the beast, but the magical residents of the village had told him that the Pogrebin could reduce a human to nothing but tears and despair with its magic. As the human succumbed to these emotions and sunk to their knees, the animal would devour them.

It wasn't much of a threat, though. The Pogrebin was vulnerable to human magic and could be taken down with an easy _Stupefy_ if it tried to attack.

This one, though, did not try to attack Newt.

Casting an Impervius charm, Newt sat crosslegged on the soft powdery sheet of snow as he waited for the small creature to reveal itself. It wouldn't do to scare the Pogrebin off now, not after Newt had come so far to find him.

When the Pogrebin began to stir, the sun was long gone and the stars were twinkling in a surprisingly clear sky. Newt was cold and drowsy and desperately hungry but he persisted. He couldn't give up without trying. The creature unfolded itself from its disguise, its small, beady eyes flitting around as it studied its surroundings. Newt went completely still, hardly daring to breathe as the Pogrebin caught sight of him and blinked twice.

Five minutes passed and Newt was shivering as he waited for it to make a move. There was a suspicious glint in the Pogrebin's eyes as it studied him but slowly, surely, it approached him.

Containing his triumph, Newt gently extended his hand, holding out what was left of his stale, frozen bread. It wasn't as if he could conjure anything better, so that would have to make do.

"Hey, there, little guy," Newt whispered, his voice hoarse due to disuse. "I bet you're hungry. Here, go on, have it… Go on, then."

The Pogrebin took it, chewing on the food as it eyed Newt warily. He had whipped out a book and was making a rough sketch of the creature, jotting down notes about its behaviour and appearance.

It was a while before Newt looked up, a grin etched on his face. "There! All done. That wasn't bad was it—?" The grin slid from Newt's face as he realised that the Pogrebin was long gone—he'd been engrossed in his notes far too long.

He scanned his surroundings, but when it was evident that the creature was not about to return, he heaved a defeated sigh. With a slightly rueful smile, Newt got up—wobbling and tripping a little due to his numbed legs—and slowly made his way back to the village.

* * *

His little shadow, however, returned the next day and refused to leave.

Newt noticed the creature as he was locking up the door to the guest cottage, blinking up at him with curious orange eyes, almost overbalancing due to the weight of its massive head.

Newt had given the Pogrebin a delighted smile and had held a slightly perplexing one-sided conversation with it as he walked to his Apparation point. He would Apparate to the Russian Ministry of Magic in Moscow and take a Portkey back to London from there—at least, that was what he'd _planned _to do until the Pogrebin clung to his robes with its tiny, hairy arms, clearly asking him not to leave.

"Well, I _have _to leave, little guy. You see, I don't live here—unlike you. I have so much to do—add your notes to my draft, visit South Africa… Merlin knows I need a break from snow and rain. So, would you please let go of me?"

Predictably, it didn't.

Newt stared at the Pogrebin as it glared back and he reckoned that he must've looked quite silly, having a staring contest with a one-foot-tall creature, but in the end, he gave up. He had no choice—the Portkey wouldn't wait much longer for him, after all.

He sighed, as he popped open his suitcase, gesturing for the Pogrebin to hop in. "Alright then, go in, if you please. You _clearly _aren't going to listen to me, and I can't turn up at the Russian Ministry with a creature trailing after me. Come on then, hurry up. I can't wait much longer."

The Pogrebin—he really should pick a name for it, now that it'd wormed its way into his suitcase—bared its tiny teeth in what Newt thought was a smug little grin and plopped itself into the depths of his suitcase, making an audible crash as it landed. Newt winced—his equipment was expensive and never worked quite the same if he used a _Reparo._

With a last glance at the barren snowfields of the village, Newt disappeared, his suitcase rattling a little as he landed in the Ministry. He sighed, ignoring the disturbance as he broke into a run, praying that the little Pogrebin hadn't cost him his Portkey back home.


End file.
